


If I Can’t Kiss it, At Least Let Me Make it Better

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's having a bad day.  Clint does what he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Can’t Kiss it, At Least Let Me Make it Better

**Author's Note:**

> I had a stupid bad day today and wrote this as a form of free therapy. Beta'd by the ever fantastic desert_neon.

Clint is halfway down the hall to Coulson’s office when he hears a stomp.

It’s not a book falling or a drawer slamming, no - this is definitely a _stomp._ This is someone hitting the floor with their foot in frustration. Clint hurries his pace.

He gets to Coulson’s door - closed, but not shut, there’s a half-inch of light seeping around the doorframe - and nudges it open. “Sir?”

Coulson’s standing in the middle of his office _heaving_. His chest is moving up and down, his eyes are wild, his hands are clenched. Clint stares. He’s seen Coulson irritated, irate, upset, and disturbed, but this? This is _angry._ “Sir?”

Coulson turns to him, his hands spasming. “What?!” 

Even his tone is angry - the word is sharp, almost bitten off. Clint blinks and barely manages not to step backwards. Holy shit. It may be inappropriate to think this, but Coulson in the middle of an angry tirade is really fucking hot.

“Uh,” Clint says. “Are you… okay?”

“No,” Coulson snaps. “I’m not. I’m fucking not okay. I’m pissed, actually. I am royally, utterly pissed. And angry. And I kind of want to kill someone. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Clint can feel his eyes go wide. “Not particularly.”

Coulson groans. He lifts his hands to his head and runs his fingers over his scalp, stopping halfway to tug not-so-gently on the short hairs. He drops his head forward and his shoulders droop. They don’t relax, nothing about Coulson screams _relaxed,_ but he does look moderately less homicidal than before. 

“I’m sorry, Clint,” he mutters. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the situation, and Rumlow, and Garrett, and Hand, but I’m not angry at _you._ It’s not fair of me to take my frustration out on you.” He sighs, then looks up, straightens his shoulders, and consciously relaxes his hands. “What can I do for you?”

Clint feels like a heel. He steps forward. “Oh, hey, no - don’t do that.” He hates the ‘Agent Coulson’ mask. Or, no, he doesn’t _hate_ it, it’s just that, for the first time, he got a look at what lies beneath the surface. “You’re not a robot. You don’t have to pretend you don’t have feelings.”

Coulson shakes his head. “My feelings don’t matter. It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” He looks at Clint politely. “Did you need something?”

Clint opens his mouth, shuts it, and then drops down into the visitor’s chair. “Me? Nope! Not a thing. Go on,” he encourages. “Tell me what got you so upset. What did Rumlow do?”

Coulson side-eyes him, but Clint maintains a picture of perfect interest, leaning forward, elbows folded onto his knees, and, finally, Coulson relents. “Rumlow took over the Marinara op,” he explains. “He fired the civilian contractor, cancelled my projected end date, and instituted a change in the ranking system.”

Clint winces. In S.H.I.E.L.D. tech speak, that means Brock basically stepped in said ‘thanks, good job, we’ll take it from here’ and then kicked Coulson to the curb. “That sucks.”

“Yes,” Coulson agrees, folding himself into his office chair. “Garrett said to let him, he’s new, he’s got to learn how to make mistakes, and Hand backed him up.”

“Meanwhile, you’re stuck watching from the sidelines, knowing from a distance that everything’s going to go to crap,” Clint summarizes.

“Basically,” Phil agrees, before sitting up and shaking his head. “No, that’s not fair. Rumlow’s changes weren’t all bad, and he’ll probably get the op done eventually. It’s going to take him twice as long, though, and that means he’ll have first availability of resources, and I _wanted_ Sitwell for the Rhodan op, and now I can’t have him.”

Clint thinks back to his morning briefing. “I’m in that one, aren’t I? Something about needing a patsy?”

“Sitwell does an excellent patsy,” Coulson agrees. He sighs. “It’s fine, it’s - I’ll work it out. It’s just that I had the whole thing planned in my head, and now I have to rework it all.” He tugs the paperwork spread out over his desk a little closer.

Clint reaches and taps Coulson’s chair with his foot. “Hey,” he says, when Coulson looks over, “do you want some help? I’m free until tomorrow.”

Coulson frowns. “No, you’ve got - ” He checks his tablet “ - range time booked this afternoon.”

Clint shrugs. “It’s not like I can’t miss a session or two. Besides, if I need to, I’ll take a break. I can at least help you out until then.”

Coulson smiles. It’s soft, and a little unsure, but it’s real. Clint feels a warm sense of satisfaction at once again having uncovered a little bit more of the man beneath the mask. “I’d like that. Thank you, yes.”

“Awesome,” Clint says with a grin, leaning forward. “Okay, so - walk me through it.”

Coulson passes him a sheet of paper. “Okay, so the basics of the op is this…”

 

~ The End


End file.
